


Inktober 2018

by Torchiclove



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: (just gonna put warning that apply to some of them here), Blood, Multi, Rats, Sex With A Goddess, Torture, most of these are fluffy though i swear, one (1) porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-01 12:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16284554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torchiclove/pseuds/Torchiclove
Summary: My friends and I all did inktober as writing prompts! Kinda liked some of them so I decided to post them here if anyone's interesting in seeing what my OCs (and some of my friend's OCs) get up to.





	1. Day 1 - Poisonous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylas, tiefling draconic sorcerer, hunts.

Sylas crouches low, fingernails digging into the soft dirt. Murky water oozes out and pools around his fingertips, but his eyes are trained forward, looking through the trees at a small, foraging rodent, snout buried in dead leaves. He grins, sharp teeth exposed, and waits for his moment, creeping forward on his hands and knees.

There’s a shrill cry as he springs forward, hands outstretched, and grabs the furry body of the swamp rat. It squeaks and wriggles in his grasp, teeth bared and looking for purchase on his fingers, and he sinks his fangs into its neck. With a flourish or arcane intent his saliva drips green into the rodent’s fur, and it twitches before falling limp in his grasp.

He glances around quickly, eyes peeled for any other animals stalking around, and darts quickly back into the cover of the trees, his prize gripped tightly. His hut isn’t far away, squat with a thatch roof and sagging walls, stilted to stay out of the damp mud of the swamp.

His fingers are not clawed; only jagged, broken nails exist, and so he uses his teeth to rend and tear. He spits clumps of matted brown fur out as he exposes the animal’s insides, the parts he wants, and greedily scarfs them down. Blood dribbles down his chin, becoming lost in the sea of similar stains on the dark wooden floor. When his meal is done and only the inedible parts are left, he licks clean the small skull and holds it in the palm of his hand.

He tosses the remains outside, into a ramshackle excuse for a garden where only the hardiest of plants can grow. The skulls he keeps, tying it onto a long string of similar bone that dangles from the low roof. It jangles as he moves it to mimic the breeze, a warning and a windchime wrapped in one. 

Sated, Sylas returns to his home, lounging comfortably with his back against the wall. He licks blood stains from his fingertips as he watches the insects buzz and crawl; he smiles at his dominion over them. A fat beetle tries to scale the mountain of his foot, and with a flick of his hand he leeches the life from it, legs curling inward as it topples backward. He picks the insect up and pops it into his mouth, a satisfying crunch to wash out the musty taste of rat flesh.

He imagines this is how his ancestors must have lived—resounding freedom, striking fear into the little things that dared share their space. He imagines the terrible claws and giant wings, the scales and jagged horns. That’s how they see him, the insects, the rodents: jagged horns and sharp fangs, poison dripping, giant stomping feet and cruel talons. He revels in it, drinks it in, and uses the magic the dragons gifted him with to steal the life from another miserable creature buzzing about his home.


	2. Day 2 - Tranquil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High school au of my aasimar paladin (Gabe) and my friend's aasimar warlock/paladin (Gust).

Gust’s house is big. Gabe’s has one floor, a smattering of rooms—two bedrooms, one bath, a living room, a kitchen—but the Buchanans’ is a veritable mansion, with more space than Gabe knows what to do with. He tries to hide his surprise when he walks in the door, seeing the tastefully decorated foyer, but he can’t help the sharp inhale.

Gust looks back and raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything. There’s a hint of nervousness playing across his features.

How Gabe ended up here, in the Buchanan household, is a bit of a long story, but it boils to down to hair.

They were hanging out behind the school one day—Gust’s choice of place to...not smoke, or drink, or really do anything other than pout, and somewhere Gabriel found perfectly acceptable to spend some time with a friend. Gust asked, out of the blue, “What do you use to get your hair that color?”

Gabe cocked his head, slightly confused before remembering stark white isn’t among the range of natural colors for most people. “Nothing,” he chuckles, “It’s just like this.” He runs a hand through the downy white hair to demonstrate, showing the roots, perfectly uniform with the rest of it.

“No way,” Gust said with a smile, “You’re fucking with me.”

“No?” Gabe asked, vulnerable confusion in his voice, because why would he lie about hair?

“Okay, well, actually your hair would be really easy to get some color into, you ever thought about it?” His eyes lit up, an unfamiliar brightness to the usually dull browns. He was more excited than he wanted to show. 

“Do you think it’d look good?” Gabe ventured.

“I mean, yeah, totally. Guess it depends on what color you want it?”

Gabe blinked, unsure. “What do you think would fit me?”

“Hmm,” Gust murmurs, “Not sure. Give me some time to think about it, I’ll pick something nice.”

 

And they made plans to dye it over at Gust’s place. Gabe still doesn’t know what color he picked, he’d been keeping it a secret, and excitement bubbles in his stomach as Gust leads him to the upstairs bathroom.

He rummages through the cabinet, pushing past a black bottle to grab something bright blue, and he grins triumphantly.

“Blue?” Gabe asks.

“Electric blue,” Gust corrects. “It’s your color.”

Gabriel smiles, soft and genuine. “Okay, what do I need to do?”

Gust sits him down and pulls on a pair of gloves. He pours the thick blue dye into a bowl and sticks one hand into it, scooping it onto Gabe’s head and starting to massage it through. It’s sticky and cold, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Your hair’s really soft, man,” Gust says, cutting through the peaceful silence. 

Gabe chuckles, and he can feel the heat rising up in his cheeks. “Thanks?”

“Yeah,” Gust continues, quieter, “Feels like feathers.”

Gabe tilts his head backwards, smile spread across his face. Gust’s hands slide forward, and blue dye smudges across Gabe’s forehead. They lock eyes, and the corner of Gust’s mouth tugs upward.

“Come on, Gabriel, you’re making a mess. Stay still,” he says, with the hint of a laugh.

“Alright, alright, how long is this gonna take?”

“I’m almost done putting it in,” Gust says, scooping another handful and smoothing it down the side of Gabe’s head, “Then it’s gotta sit for like...half an hour? And rinse it out, and then it’s done.”

They’re quiet for the next few minutes, mostly. Gabe starts humming softly as Gust’s fingers run through his hair, making sure everything is coated thoroughly. It feels like a massage; it feels like he could sit here for hours, in the quiet peace of a bigger-than-necessary bathroom, Gust’s hands sifting slowly through his soft locks of hair.

And then, too soon, it’s over; Gust stands up and pulls his gloves off. “Now, we wait. Make sure you don’t drip on anything.”

Gabe stands, careful to move slowly, and looks at himself in the mirror. It’s pretty funny, his hair completely slicked down with thick blue goop, a couple smears of it on his forehead and the sides of his neck. “Is it gonna be this dark?”

“It’ll lighten up when we rinse it.”

The thirty minutes passes quickly as they get wrapped up in conversation—Gust complaining about his parents, school, everything, while Gabe politely nods and laughs along with the dramatics. An alarm beeps on Gust’s phone as he’s in the middle of a rant about his history class, and he grins widely.

“Alright, get over here,” he says, stepping over to the bathtub. He takes down the shower head and turns the water on, waiting a moment for it to heat up. “Okay, just, like…” he tries to picture how this is gonna work in his mind, and sits on the flat-topped side of the tub. “Lay down so your head’s not over my feet.”

Gabe smiles awkwardly and lays on his back across Gust’s legs, head dangling over the bathtub. Gust brings the showerhead over and starts rinsing his hair, carding his fingers through as the dye drips out in dark blue rivulets. It’s a little hot at first, but Gabe quickly gets used to it, and the sound of the water creates a nice rhythm against the porcelain. Gust’s bony knees dig into his back, but he doesn’t mind much. 

Again, it’s over too quick, with Gust shutting off the water and telling Gabe to, “Get the hell off, you’re fucking heavy!” Gabe sits up with a grin and feels water dripping down onto his shirt; Gust quickly brings him a towel, and he dries his hair as best he can.

“Wanna blow dry it to see how it turned out?” Gust asks, an uncharacteristic smile curling across his face. 

“Yeah!”

Gust won’t let him look into the mirror until it’s dry. He dramatically turns Gabe around, hands on his shoulders, and waits expectantly.

It’s pretty bright blue. Electric was definitely the word, but it looks good; shocking, different, but good. Gabe smiles; he loves it. It’s all Gust needs to see before he’s grinning, too, unable to contain it.

 

When Gabe wakes up the next morning he looks in the mirror, a little shocked to see the blue in his tired state. It’s not he same bright, electric hue; it’s faded down to a soft baby blue, and he frowns, hoping Gust isn’t too disappointed.

He catches him in the morning, just before classes start, sheepishly running a hand through the down-soft hair, with an apology on his lips. “Yeah, the blue didn’t really stick that well,” he says, shrugging.

Gust swallows audibly, eyes a little wide, a bit of pink tinging his pale cheeks. “I like it,” he says, breathless, then exhales. “It, uh, really suits you. Even better.”

“Really?” Gabe says, eyes lighting up, and Gust groans as a sudden hug forces the air out of his lungs, “Thanks man!”


	3. Day 3 - Roasted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My fire genasi monk and my friend's eladrin sorcerer torching her dad's house because they're part of the fantasy french revolution.

The night air is crisp, the heat of the day evaporating into cool nothing, quiet and still aside from the droning song of crickets in the background. Sabre’s feet step silently across the cobblestones with Yin close behind her, both of them coursing with adrenaline.

The king was against violent retaliation. The king called for the most peaceful revolution possible, but some feuds run deeper than that, and Sabre would have her vengeance. Her blood boils with the thought of him—of Claudius Levoir. The man that never cared a bit about her, who upheld everything they were trying so desperately to be rid of.

It would set an example that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

They round another corner, closing in on their target, and Sabre checks to make sure the coast is clear. There’s no one in sight; the mansion looms before them. It’s familiar, pristine walls evoke something primal, a mixture of anger and nostalgia. 

Sabre clutches a small satchel to her side, careful to make sure it doesn’t clatter as she darts through the streets. Inside, all the oil she’ll need to make sure this job is well done. Behind her, she can feel Yin brimming with excitement, heat radiating off of her like a summer day trapped in an elven body. It was just the perfect time for her to shift into this mood—the only one likely to help Sabre out with her plan. 

They skirt to the back of the house, easily scaling the protective fence. Things like this have become child’s play; years at the monastery have their perks. Sabre’s familiar with the layout—the large cellar door, the back entrance, the window from which she’d looked out upon the city her whole childhood.

She runs a hand across the dry wood of the walls, perfect for catching fire, and motions for Yin to follow her to the backdoor. It’s locked. Yin touches it with her hand and a tattoo on the side of her neck glows faintly; the door swings open, and Sabre resists the urge to sweep her in a kiss right there. 

Sabre steps into the lavish parlor, untouched furniture and bookshelves lining the room. It’s one of the places she wasn’t supposed to be when she was a kid, a there’s a swell of satisfaction in her chest and she stands triumphantly inside. She pulls one of the flasks from her satchel and begins her work, pouring it over the couch and the wooden shelves, leaving a trail of thick, black liquid all around the room. Yin stands guard at the doorway, eyes bright and intense, glancing between the still night and Sabre every few seconds. 

Sabre empties the last flask of oil, a trail leading to the doorway. One spark and the whole room would be up in the flames, an inferno bound the spread and consume the entire house. Sabre’s fingers light up, and fire curls at the edges of her hair. She glances at Yin, eyes burning with the heat of summer, and nods. They step outside, and Sabre flicks the fire downward.

They don’t stick around and watch. As soon as the crackling sound begins they’re off, darting into the night to get as far away as possible before anyone notices. It’s fifteen minutes of hard running before they slow down, catching their breath in an empty alleyway, and Sabre looks up.

Yin has a rare smile curling across her face, a look of mischief and triumph. She doesn’t care to resist her urges now; she grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her fiercely, lips warm even to her fire genasi skin. They’re locked there, expressing all the victory that can’t be said in words, until Yin pulls away with a gasp.

“You’re hair’s going to give us away,” she says, pointing at the living, writhing flame that crackles across Sabre’s head.

“Right,” she says, then sighs. “He’s gonna know it was us no matter what we do now.”

“He’ll deal with it,” Yin says coldly, “It needed to be done.”

“You’re right,” Sabre says, more to reassure herself than anything. She draws in a cold breath, the exhaustion suddenly hitting her. “You’re right. Let’s go home.”


	4. Day 4 - Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My tiefling ranger Mari, who I play in my main campaign, and her ex-girlfriend Aurora, before they broke up.

Mari thinks, _I am the luckiest girl in the world._

She watches Aurora walk through the woods like she owns them, and at the same time like she knows something like this can never be owned. The only person she’s ever seen so completely comfortable in the safety of the trees is herself; they’re both exactly where they belong, in the woods, together.

Her soft, high voice carries through the forest with ease, as if the wind itself agrees to send her message along. Her skin and hair match perfectly the autumn tones, warm browns and oranges, and Mari thinks she might’ve stepped out of the fallen leaves, fully formed, rather than being born.

“Come on, slowpoke!” She calls, with a giggle like windchimes. Mari realizes she’s stopped in her tracks, admiring her beauty, and giggles too, face splitting into a wide smile. Leaves crunch under her feet as she jogs forward, wrapping Aurora in a hug as soon as she catches up.

“You’re so pretty,” Mari breathes, lips almost touching her neck, and she can feel the shiver that runs up Aurora’s spine. She lets Mari slowly push her backward until she’s up against a tree, able to feel the rough bark against her back. Their lips meet, slow and passionate, enjoying the freedom they have out here—the freedom to linger as long as they want, nothing but each other to explore.

Both of them pause just a moment later, heads turning toward a shrill, mournful cry emerging from the brush. Aurora slips out from Mari’s grasp immediately, already headed towards the source of the noise, and Mari follows curiously. It repeats itself intermittently, growing fainter each time, until Aurora finds, sitting atop the litter of the forest floor, a small bird.

One wing trails limply behind it, useless for flight, with specks of blood dotting the feathers. It starts to hop away but she whispers a few words and begins to chirp in a mimicry of the bird’s song. It calms and lets her scoop it up in her palm.

Mari watches with wonder as Aurora puts a hand over the broken wing and, with a swirl of golden energy, mends it. She smiles and holds out her hand, and the bird flutters away with a high, delighted cry, disappearing into the canopy.

“You’re amazing,” Mari says, voice thick with affection, “How do you do that?”

Aurora grins, a bit of a blush coloring her freckled cheeks.

“My magic comes from nature,” she starts, and takes Mari’s hand and lifts it up. She presses their palms together, her skin cool and smooth. “You focus on the earth around you, and draw what you want from it, and say the words–” she mutters something in a language that sounds ancient, and the warm golden glow spreads from her palm into Mari’s fingertips, “–and it’s there.”

Mari looks at her hand with wonder, then places it on Aurora’s cheek. She thinks deeply about her connection to the woods, how at home she feels here, the long nights on the road with Zari, the crisp morning air, the heavy, hot afternoons, and she mutters the words the best she remembers, closing her eyes. She opens them and sees no swirl of gold, only purple against dappled chestnut. 

“It didn’t work,” she says quietly, eyes downcast.

“It takes practice,” Aurora says softly, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek, “Nobody gets it on the first try.”

Mari smiles, soft and vulnerable, her chest brimming with emotion she feels she can barely contain. “I love you, Rory,” she whispers.

“I love you, too.”


	5. Chapter 5 - Chicken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonto, our druid's chaotic evil owl familiar. For background, one time Mari tried to save an injured bird and Tonto ate it. The next time she tried to save an injured animal an npc we were traveling with shot Tonto with a chaos bolt.

Tonto sits upon Mari’s horn, a gluttonous queen claiming her throne, as she scarfs a still-wriggling rodent down. She’s taken to it ever since her first death, haughtily showing Mari the animals she eviscerates.

Mari’s not bothered by it, really, as it’s the way of nature—though she supposes Tonto is not quite natural anymore. It was just the one night, the one impulse, and now Tonto is taunting her for it forever.

She hoots smugly and digs her claws in, one foot moving from Mari’s horn into her hair. That can’t be comfortable, but Mari’s sure Tonto much prefers scratching her scalp to getting comfy. 

“Nai,” Mari sighs finally, “Get your glorified chicken off my head.”

Tonto screeches indignantly, and for once Mari regrets the fact that animals can understand her. 

Naivara looks up from her resting place in the cart and locks eyes with Tonto for a moment. “Won’t listen to me,” she says, shrugging, with the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

Mari groans; she has to do everything herself. She waits as Tonto settles into her hair, stretching her claws painfully, and closes her eyes for a nap. Mari brings her hand up slowly and grabs the owl, wrenching her off her head and holding her at arms length.

Tonto screeches like she’s being murdered, a sound Mari is very familiar with. Everyone spooks as she furiously flaps her wings; Mari brings her arms back and throws her with all her strength out of the cart.

All of Mari’s strength, however, is not very much. It only takes seconds before Tonto rights herself in the air and comes back with fury, beak and talons at the ready, and Mari realizes her grave mistake.

“Nai, please!” she manages just before a ball of feathers collides with her face with enough force knock her back.

Naivara looks up lazily, contemplating for a few seconds as Mari ducks and flails. “That’s enough,” she sighs, and Tonto stops immediately, perching ruefully on the ground beside Nai.

“I fucking hate your hellbird.”


	6. Day 6 - Drooling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mari waking up next to Az, her girlfriend and the party's barbarian. Also she has a dog (he's actually a wolf)

Mari is no stranger to sleeping on the ground, bedroll or no, and there’s a strange comfort to it. Beds are nice, but the forest floor offers a heightened sense of reality, that shifting shimmering glimpse of home. Home has always been a feeling, never a place, and right now, on the forest floor, Azaerin in her arms, Mari can’t help but feel it. 

It’s a thought that follows her gently into peaceful sleep. No dreams distract her from her rest, and she wakes in the morning with a yawn, keeping her eyes shut tight against the light streaking in from the canopy.

The first thing on her mind, as usual, is affection; she shifts and brings her face forward, searching for a pair of lips to kiss, but instead gets a mouthful of fur. She opens her eyes to a wide expanse of black, and groans as she realizes Valdasm has wriggled his way between them. His muzzle is shoved into her shoulder, a puddle of drool underneath it.

“Az, tell your dog to fuck off,” Mari whines, uselessly shoving Valdsam’s shoulder. 

“He’s a good boy,” Az mumbles back groggily, eyes still closed. Valdsam perks up at the sound of her voice and his tail starts wagging, thumping against Mari’s legs. He scrambles to his feet, too-big paws flailing.

“He slobbered all over me,” Mari continues, unconvinced.

“He loves you!” Az says, quickly followed by a fit of giggles as Valdsam reaches over and licks her face. 

Mari can’t help but smile, eyes brimming with affection as she gazes at Az. “You’re gross.”


	7. Chapter 7 - Exhausted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aelun, my friend's human barbarian, finds my bloodhunter Jo after she unwillingly undergoes her taming.

Soreness existed for Jo as her body’s fight against its own salvation. If she could only keep going, keep crawling, she would make it, but her skinny arms refuse to budge, and she lay still. Her own body feels foreign, skin like clothes that fit too tight, weak broken nails and useless teeth. She wills the wolf that she is to take her, to reveal itself, but the poison that courses through her veins has taken its toll, and she remains, motionless, human.

There’s a rustle in the brush, and fear courses through her dead limbs. They disobey the screaming of her mind to run, and in a moment Jo accepts her death at the hands of the forest that is her home.

Unexpectedly, a voice cuts through the roaring blood in her ears. “Hey—hey are you alright?”

It’s soft and gentle, comforting, familiar. Jo lifts her tired head and sees, through streaks of stringy black hair, a tall man looking down at her with soft eyes.

He blinks, confused, and then, incredulously, “Jo?”

A smile splits across his face, and a faded memory sparks in Jo’s mind. “Aelun?” She wheezes, voice hoarse.

He laughs, elated, before he realizes her state and his face drops again, deadly serious. “What happened to you?” 

“I can’t,” she starts, eyes starting to water, throat starting to close, “They took it away, I’m stuck, I can’t–” She chokes a sob, the tension releasing from her tired shoulders, and Aelun kneels down beside her. He places a hand on her bare back and flinches as the muscles tense instinctively.

“Can I take you home?” He asks, voice watery.

She nods faintly, and feels tears streaking down her dirty cheeks. A trek through the forest in her vulnerable human body had not served her well, leaving her covered in scrapes and bruises, on top of the wounds she’d already sustained. Aelun slowly, gently scoops her into his arms. Her mind screams to panic, even under his familiar touch, but she stays limp. He cradles her head into his chest, carrying her with strong, wiry arms.

She stays vaguely conscious, enough to realize how close she got. She’d almost made it home, collapsing only a five minute’s walk away. Something about this is funny. Something about it’s terrifying.

He sets her down somewhere soft. He’s talking, but she’s too tired to make out what he’s saying, eyes glassy and fluttering closed. 

 

The morning comes with a wash of fresh agony, every one of Jo’s muscles exhausted beyond belief. Her eyes shoot open and she inhales sharply, a bloom of fear spreading throughout her chest. Adrenaline can only numb so much pain, though, and the effort it takes to push herself into a sitting position is almost too much. 

There’s a coarse blanket draped over her naked body, and she swivels her head to see Aelun cooking quietly over a small fireplace. Their small fireplace. She’s home, she realises, finally home, after weeks of thinking it was a place she’d never see again. 

“Morning, Jo,” Aelun says, waving at her with a shy smile.

“Morning,” she says, her voice still raspy. Her throat is raw from screaming, and she runs her tongue over her flat teeth, feeling a shiver crawl down her spine at the strange sensation.

“Are you okay?”

She thinks about that for a second, and she wills the wolf forward. Nothing happens.

“No,” she says, with a hint of panic creeping into her voice, staring at her ghostly pale, blood-streaked hands. “Something’s wrong, Al, whatever they did to me, it’s not going away, I can’t turn, I’m stuck.” Tears gather in her eyes and threaten to spill.

Her eyes are wild, and her chest heaves as panic takes her. She wants to run, to snarl, to howl at the sun and rip at bark and feel her claws digging into the soft earth. Her fingernails dig crescents into her palms and it feels wrong, everything does, her skin an ill-fitting costume that she wishes she could tear off and leave for the vultures.

Aelun sits down beside her, hesitant and slow, like he’s approaching a wild animal. He places a tentative arm around her shoulder, and she tenses for a few seconds before relaxing. She turns to him, all feral despair, and buries her face in his chest. She lets the familiar smell of him wash over her, and her breathing slows, tears spilling down her cheeks onto Aelun’s clothes.

He pulls her closer wordlessly and hums softly into her ear, one warm hand rubbing slow circles across her back. “You’re gonna be alright,” he says finally.

“But–” she chokes through a sob, and he quickly quiets her. 

“We’ll figure it out, Jo. You’re safe here.”

She nods, pale fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt, and she feels the wolf in the back of her head, faint but still there.


	8. Day 8 - Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher and Izar, far realm genasi, lesbians, soulmates.

Asher walks with a quick step, the damp wood of the dock creaking under her feet. The salty breeze fills her nose, that familiar smell of brine and fish. There’s something off, though, something strange. She feels it like a tickle in the back of her head, a blur at the edge of her vision. Something is watching her.

She glances up at the sky; the sun is high, barely halfway through its daily arc, and there’s not a star in the sky. These eyes are mortal, present, not the vast and endless eyes of the beings Asher wracks her brain to comprehend. They can’t see her now.

She glances quickly behind her, but she can’t pick out anything in the crowd. It’s a busy morning; ships coming in, cargo being unloaded, deckhands rushing about. Her heartbeat quickens. She takes a sharp turn to the right, approaching a row of sagging buildings weathered by the cruelty of the ocean. The crowd is thinner here; another glance and she catches a shape moving at the corner of her vision, a stark white blur.

Her heart leaps into her throat, in an emotion that she doesn’t understand but clearly isn’t fear.

There’s an old, run-down tavern here, the type of place drunken sailors swap trumped up stories and drink cheap booze. It’s good enough; Asher swiftly opens the door and slams it behind her. A few day-drinkers look at from their tankards at the woman with pitch black skin and fear (no, not fear, something else—something else) written across her face. 

She makes a beeline for the back of the room, in a poorly lit corner where her hair hungrily devours the light and makes her even harder to see amongst the shadow. 

It’s not long before a woman walks in, tall and muscular, with stark white skin and hair that shimmers like the night sky. The breath escapes Asher’s lungs in a soft rush, and her eyes widen. The woman looks over and locks eyes with her immediately, cutting straight through the darkness. She strides over with slow, deliberate steps, a sword swinging at her hips, and sits down across from Asher.

“Hi,” Asher says, breathless.

“I’ve been looking for you,” the woman says, voice calm as the void of space. 

“Oh?” Asher says, and a part of her brain dimly recognizes that that should be concerning. Another, strong part says it makes perfect sense. She’s been looking for her, too.

“My name’s Izar.” She holds out her hand, calloused, skin like ivory.

“Asher,” she replies faintly. She extends her palm to shake and hesitates right before their fingers touch, like the energy crackling between them might explode as soon as they touched. 

It didn’t, though; their hands slide together perfectly, Izar’s skin warm to the touch. When Asher lets go Izar’s arm lingers, outstretched, hanging dumbly in the air until she leans forward further, and one porcelain finger brushes Asher’s cheek.

“Stars,” she says plainly, voice brimming with wonder, and that’s when the rush of feelings clicks. 

“Stars!” Asher says excitedly, a smile splitting her face, and she reaches out to touch Izar’s hair, twinkling just like the freckles dotting her own skin. 

“I saw you awhile ago, and I knew we were the same, and I came to find you,” Izar says, withdrawing her hand and looking distantly at the table. 

“Thank you,” Asher says, and she’s awash with an overwhelming feeling of wholeness, like that missing piece of her is, for this brief moment, there. She looks at Izar and sees the night sky, the vast inky expanse of her dreams, the snatches of visions. She sees all of it, a reflection of herself, and it’s beautiful.

“What do we do now?” Izar asks, cutting through her racing thoughts.

Asher grins, energy bubbling in her chest. “I don’t know,” she says, elated, “Anything.”


	9. Day 9 - Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overview of Mari's childhood with her older sister Zari.

Someone shows Zari how to hold her new baby sister, and she’s barely put her down since.

She cradles her close to her chest, supporting her tiny head with tiny hands, so steady and sure for someone barely older than a toddler. Devonna and Aldric don’t seem to mind; if anything, it’s a relief. Zari hands them their child when feeding time comes around and quickly takes her back as soon as she’s done, even taking the time to burp her herself.

It’s a spectacle, if anything, to watch a child so entranced by new life. Zari sits on the ground, Mari in her lap, and waves her fingers in front of bright red eyes, grinning at the soft cooing, a toothless smile spread across chubby purple cheeks. She proudly proclaims to anyone that asks that, “This is my sister!” She still has the fumbling, stilted speech of a child, tripping over her t’s, but her confidence is that of someone much older.

They wait, patiently, for her fascination to wear out, for Devonna to pick up the slack and for Zari to go back to her life of running around carelessly. They find, however, that the passion doesn’t fade; the months drag on, and Zari remains dedicated. Hand in hand, she coaches Mari through her first steps; encourages her through her first words. Mari doesn’t learn to say “Momma” until she’s forming full sentences. 

They become an inseparable pair; one never seen without the other. Mari has a knack for getting into trouble, and nobody knows where it comes from—Zari’s nothing less than a saint, after all. But she’s patient with her sister, and sometimes, sometimes, plays along. 

When Aldric drunkenly slurs, “When did you get so big?” he means it. After it becomes clear that Mari is going to grow up tall, and she reaches the same height as her sister, Devonna gives up trying to tell them apart. The girls, it seems, don’t care; as they get older, they seek out their parents less and less, leaving them to their own devices.

It surprises no one but Devonna and Aldric when, one morning, the pair are nowhere to be found. It’s a little sad, but then again, it isn’t. They’re older now, and it’s no longer precious to see a twenty year old woman raising her fifteen year old sister.

The circus decides, almost unanimously, it’s for the best. And hell, at least they don’t have to be sad about it anymore.


	10. Day 10 - Flowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassel, an Aasimar raised in a temple of Abona, after she abandons her destiny.

The divinity drips from her in rivulets of color, draining, leaving streaks of grey like drops of rain on her skin. Kassel looks at her hand with a mix of horror and fascination. She touches it to her cheek and it’s chilled, unnaturally cold. She feels an itching in her shoulders, uncomfortable, like something’s moving under the skin. 

The forest around her is silent, nothing there, nobody to find her. She takes off her shirt and feels her shoulder blades, sore and warm, raw and bleeding. She takes a breath and summons the wings. Instead of appearing in a flash of gold, they slowly extend, and golden feathers drop to the ground around her.

As they hit the forest floor, they turn grey and crumble to ash. Kassel feels blood flowing down her back, a sharp stinging where her wings appeared. She can’t usually feel them, they’re not real, but she can now, and they hurt. She twists her head around to look, and she sees more feathers shake loose and disintegrate. Golden liquid drips from exposed sinews, turning black as soon as it hits the ground and soaking into the earth. 

Her throat tightens, tears welling in her eyes, and the same golden blood trails down her cheeks. The grey drips further down her forearm as Kassel cries out her divinity, going from a slow weeping to loud sobs wracking her body, making it hard to breath. She doesn’t even know why she’s crying, but she can’t stop it now, kneeling on her hands and knees with the force of it. 

The tears slow, her ragged breathing returned to her, and she feels like all the energy has been sapped from her body. Her wings burn, and she can hear them creaking. She hesitantly spares a glance and sees jagged bone, dripping with black sludge, before they crack and snap back into her bleeding back. 

With the last of her waning energy, she crawls towards the sound of trickling water, to the nearby stream, and looks into it. She catches glances of her face—death-grey skin, freckles turned to pools of void, curly red hair gone limp and dark. This is her punishment, proclaiming to the world her sin. The mother of the lost casts away her wayward child, and Kassel stands up.

The peacebringer is no mother of hers. She never has been, and she never will be again.


	11. Day 11 - Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo's taming.

A pitch-black wolf throws itself against the bars of its cage, solid muscle thudding dully against iron that would never bend. Blood cakes Jo’s fur, and she barely has any space to build momentum, but she tries again, and again, and again.

“Honey, that can’t be comfortable,” says a gruff voice from the man sitting a foot away from the bars, polishing his sword lazily. “Why don’t you slip into something smaller? No need to stay like that.”

Jo growls, teeth bared, hackles raised. He snarls back at her and grips his sword with gloved hands, slowly strolling over. He pokes it between the bars and Jo scrambles towards the back of the cage, only saving herself a few inches before it comes in contact with her skin.

She whimpers as it touches the fur, as the burn starts to build and spread. He thrusts it forward, breaking the skin, and she howls with pain as her flesh sizzles from the silvered weapon. 

“I said,” he growls, pushing the sword deeper and twisting it, “Put away those ugly teeth and show me your pretty little face, so we can get to work on ya.”

She presses herself into the corner, but in the small space he’s inescapable, and the searing pain of the silver is all she can think about. It digs deeper and deeper until she can’t take it anymore, and she relinquishes the body she loves to banish it.

He pulls the sword back as her fur recedes and she shrinks into a pale, naked woman, curled into the corner of her cage, dirty black hair covering her face. The man withdraws his sword, letting it clatter loudly against the iron bars.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he says, haughty and full of saccharine malice, “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He steps back and Jo hears the familiar sound of a transformation, bones snapping and expanding, fur growing. She waits for the noise of paws hitting the ground, but it doesn’t come; she looks up and sees him, bipedal, a humanoid bear with a grinning maw full of sharp teeth. He raises his muzzle to the night sky and roars. Within moments, shadows melt out of the trees, more like him, wolves on two legs with cruel yellow eyes and wily grins.

He opens the cage, and Jo is helpless against his strong, clawed hands that reach in and grab her. He speaks, his voice even deeper, and says, “It’s time for your taming, darlin’.”


	12. Day 13 - Guarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dahlia still thinks her brother is out to kill her.

Check. Double check. Triple check.

Dahlia pushes her metal boot against the door, putting more and more weight against it, making sure the lock holds. It withstands a swift kick, and she deems it worthy. The window, on the other hand, she knows that will shatter. She unlocks it and locks it again, then takes a dark cloth and secures it over the glass. The only light in the room comes from a small candle.

There’s no way to rest properly in full plate, so she begins the painful process of removing her armor, glancing around her shoulder after every strap and buckle. When it’s all off and stored neatly, she slips into something more comfortable: her studded leather.

She places her longsword beside the bed, her dagger strapped to her thigh, and her hand crossbow underneath the pillow. She takes one more glance around the room before she snuffs the candle and climbs into bed, ready for a well-earned night’s rest.

Her eyes close, and she hears a noise. 

She immediately goes rigid, eyes shooting open, but there’s nothing but darkness, not even the light from the moon filtering in. She hears it again: the creak of the floorboard. Footsteps. Someone’s in the room with her, someone, hiding, that escaped her thorough scan. But of course they would, her brother only hires the best.

This is the night Dahlia will die. Maybe. Not yet, though, they haven’t caught her yet. She needs to shake them.

“Who goes there?” She calls, sitting up in the bed, drawing her knife. There’s no reply; the silence is eerie. They’ve stopped moving, knowing they’re caught. She waits a few moments with bated breath. She steps quietly out of bed, bending down to pick up her sword, and creeps forward ever so slowly.

The noise is there again, and she pinpoints it, swings into empty blackness. Her sword hits nothing; they’re too slippery. She swings again, and again, but there’s just nothing there, like they’ve vanished into thin air. She carefully steps over to the bedside table and pulls a match from the drawer, lights the candle. A warm orange glow spreads around the small bedroom, and there’s nobody there. 

“Where are you hiding?” She asks, voice biting. She brings the candle around and inspects the bed, every floorboard, all her things. She checks the lock on the door; untouched. The window reveals the same results. 

“What game are you playing, Cypress?” She yells, voice echoing off the wooden walls. She can hear her breath, loud and quick, her rapid heartbeat. Her eyes dart around, sword held close to her chest. “I know you’re here! I know he sent you!”

The room responds only with silence. No creaking, no footsteps. She sits down on the floor. “You can’t wait forever,” Dahlia says weakly, “You’ll crack. You’ll come for me, and I’ll be ready.”

The mocking quiet continues it’s refrain, and Dahlia does not sleep.


	13. Day 14 - Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabre and Yin before they were girlfriends. Just a friendly sparring match between two monks (well, a monk and a monk/sorcerer).

Time it right. Just time it right. Watch, wait—now.

Sabre leaps backward, letting a smug grin crawl across her face before she hears a loud crack and a bloom of pain spreads through her temple, her whole skull throbbing. Yin’s already fifteen feet back, expressionless, waiting.

“What the hell, I had you!” Sabre yells, hearing the faint crackle as the edges of her hair start burning. 

“No you didn’t,” Yin says simply, fists still raised, ready to sprint as soon as Sabre came for her. “I could tell exactly where you were going by the way you were standing.”

“That’s cheating!”

“No it’s not.” She springs forward, and Sabre narrowly dodges another hit.

“You’re no fun to spar with,” she groans, swinging a punch that Yin easily ducks under.

“You just say that cause you always lose,” Yin mutters, a faint note of amusement in her voice, and connects a kick that knocks Sabre to her ass. She skids backward a few feet, the wind knocked out of her, and stands shakily. 

Without thinking, Sabre runs forward and lashes out, and that at least catches Yin off guard. She connects with a satisfying thud, knuckles digging into Yin’s solar plexus. She takes the hit like a champ, and responds by grabbing Sabre and flipping her onto her back.

She plants a foot firmly on her chest, haughty pride just a whisper on blank features. “Why won’t you ever hit my face?”

Sabre narrows her eyes. It wasn’t something she’d thought about, consciously, but she realizes now she’s never aimed for it. “I don’t really wanna hurt you.”

She smiles wryly. “You assume you can hurt me?”

Sabre relaxes her muscles and lets Yin revel in her little victory before grabbing her ankle and knocking her feet out from under her, sending her sprawled onto her back across from her. “Maybe.”

They stay there for a few minutes, breathing heavy, backs against the hard wooden floor. Sabre breaks the silence. “You really wanna know why?”

“Sure.”

“It’d be a shame to mess up that pretty face.”


	14. Day 15 - Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zari is sad.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and yet it is the one with horns that bows. Zari feels it on her neck, in her shoulders, the weight of it all. Every day, she knows it is too much to bear, that she will snap and crack under the pressure, and every day she bears it.

The sun rises. The sun sets. There is new birth, and struggle, and rejoicing, and still Zari toils with head bowed.

She worries about her sister. Less, over the years, but it’s still there; that ache in the back of her heart, the selfish selflessness that is her love for Mari. She knows there’s nothing she could’ve done and yet. She carries the weight of her sorrow on her shoulders along with so much else.

She never saw her face that night, but she imagines it in her dreams. Zari cannot kid herself into believing she wouldn’t be missed. She sees red eyes, crinkled at the edges, spilling tears, a face contorted into anguish. She sees it and she knows, this is the price I pay for justice.

The price for justice is heavy, Zari learns, and something that is not so easily weighed. And yet, so often, she is expected to weigh it. And when she doesn’t? Flames lick up the house of a man no more guilty than his peers, committing only the crime of having the wrong blood. The king is a wise and just man, Zari believes, but he doubts himself. Zari does not doubt herself.

She knows in her heart what she does is good. She knows that she is strong, stronger perhaps than any of her companions. More suited to justice than some of them, at least. But still she feels an ache in her neck, and still she bends under the weight.

In her moments of weakness, Zari thinks of the future she will have, that everyone will have, brighter and better than they’ve ever known. But mostly, she thinks of the day where she will rest.

Rest is all she wants. A home, her sister, a quiet life, a day where her only responsibility is to do what she wants and not what she must. The road lays impossibly long in front of her, and she has no choice but to tread it.

Zari picks her head up and squares her shoulder, standing proud and tall. She steps from her bedchamber and her armor gleams in the soft lantern light. There is work to be done, and she is the one who must do it.


	15. Day 16 - Angular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mari had a brief thing with this girl named Syd. It didn't go well.

Syd’s all angles.

It’s something new, Mari thinks, something she might like. Aurora’s face was soft and round, one made for holding, for cupping softly to kiss. Azaerin was not exactly soft but she didn’t have the same sharpness to her. Az’s face begged for hands clasped on either side of her jaw, fingers looping through curled hair. Syd is different.

Syd’s jaw is sharp, made to kill, made to run your fingers along like the edge of a knife. Mari does so with joy as she kisses her, putting her sharp teeth to use, feeling the skin of Syd’s lip catch and bleed. She grins at the spark of pain, wrinkles her nose in a playful growl and gives back exactly what she gets.

She’s just not a soft touches kind of girl; she’s hands always moving, finding new places to explore, new places to ravish. Over the nights they're together, scratches and bruises blossom and fade like the slowly-shifting sky, constellations in motion. Mari has favourite spots, marked by clusters of deep purple. One night she traces them with her finger, a winding path that trails down Syd’s neck, breasts, hips, thighs. There’s a swell of pride; it feels like art.

She sleeps in Mari’s arms, skin cool and sheened with sweat, messy hair falling into her face. She twists and wriggles in her sleep, face contorting, and Mari watches with curious eyes. It intensifies, she squirms more violently, and then her eyes shoot open and meet Mari’s, wide and full of terror. “Viola?” She chokes, tears welling, and buries her face in Mari’s neck. 

The sharp angles melt and blur. By day, she’s the same, scathing and witty and competitive, but by night.

By night Syd kisses just as hard, screams as loud, bites and scratches and giggles. But after that, after it’s over, she has the same nightmares, she cries. She does not look so sharp with tears trailing down her cheeks, chest heaving with sobs.

Mari tries to fix it, but she cannot mend this broken woman. She tries to change her touch to fit the soft edges but everything is wrong. Desperate arms cling to her body and it can’t offer the comfort Syd needs. Mari rubs slow circles on her back, runs her fingers through her hair, but only time slows the shaky tears, before she’s quiet again and the night is still.

Mari limps away from her like a wounded animal. She can’t stomach the roiling guilt anymore, and she feels a sharp sting of pain that night on the boat at she realizes Syd is alone. But she can only do so much; her body is no salve for a wound that refuses to heal. 

And still, the guilt, and still, the memories of those misty eyes, pools of reflective tears staining the sheets.


	16. Day 17 - Swollen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Az, our party's barbarian, has some alcohol problems.

There’s a numbness that comes with being completely fucking trashed. It’s not the happy swaying chaos of a tipsy youth, but a blank-faced stare, a moment of respite as for _once_ Az’s brain decides to shut up, to leave her alone. Her tankard is still loosely clutched in her hand, and she barely notices the people milling around—working men, with nothing better to do with their night than drink until the sun comes up. They’re loud, but it’s distant, a backdrop of meaningless noise as Az revels in the lack of thought.

In many ways, being this drunk puts her on autopilot. Az just does things, no thought required, in a blissful stupor. A man shoves her shoulder, spills her ale, and she reacts effortlessly, with a punch to his jaw.

He stumbles, looking surprised, and swings back just as quick. Az barely feels his fist hitting her shoulder as she stands up and he misjudges just how tall she is. He looks scared, and before she knows it he’s called over friends, and there are three people surrounding her.

But Az is on autopilot, and fighting is what she does best. She swings with heavy, scarred fists, feels the satisfying crunch of a nose breaking underneath her fingers. She takes a few hits, then a lot of hits, but those don’t matter. 

It’s not a fair fight. Three against one is hard even for her, and Az glances around in desperation. She watches one of the men pull out a knife, and she growls, grabbing a chair from a nearby table and bringing it over his head with all the force she can muster. He crumples, his weapon clattering to the floor, and the other two look like they’re regretting their decisions.

The larger of the two lunges forward and hits her in the temple with something hard, and Az’s brain shuts off as she feels gravity start to take her.

 

She wakes up with a pounding headache, a trickle of dried blood on the side of her head. She hurts all over, face red and swollen, and the cold of the snowy ground is leeching into her body.

She’s outside. It looks like she’s in an alley, and she doesn’t remember how she got here. There’s a splash of blood in the snow beside her, and she doesn’t know if it’s her own. She stands up, legs wobbling, her whole body sore. She doesn’t even know where she is, some forgotten place in this nameless town. Az trudges forward anyway, towards a street, towards anything.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huoka, goddess of fire, loves her wayward warlock.

Sienna scales the well-worn steps, fingers curling in anticipation. Her chest blazes with the fire of adventure, thrilled by the journey to her lover’s home. Xanther chitters happily on her shoulder, his flame-tipped ears twitching.

“Sorry, darling, gotta send you away for a bit,” she says, patting him on the head. His ears droop, and he pouts as best a fox can. “You can come back in a bit! You know how she gets after I haven’t seen her for a while.”

He grumbles, and with a snap of her fingers he’s gone, sent into the extradimensional ether. Sienna climbs the last few steps until she reaches the level top of the temple, and she sees her sitting there.

She’s just as she remembers—long red hair that curls like flame, a gauzy dress that drapes loosely around her form and leaves her arms, her chest exposed. Her eyes burn as she looks at her—with passion, with despair.

“Honey, I’m home,” Sienna breathes, a smirk crawling across her face.

“It’s been so long,” Huoka says, voice level, but Sienna can feel the deep note of longing that hides underneath it.

“What’s a few months to eternity, love?”

“Too much time away from you.” She steps forward, and suddenly she’s there, closing the distance faster than Sienna can process. Huoka’s hand cups her chin, skin burning hot but strangely comforting. 

Sienna smiles, and while Huoka was taller when she approached, she now finds her a few inches shorter. Sienna wraps her arms around her waist, pulling her flush against her, and plants a feather-light kiss on her forehead. “For a goddess, you have no patience.”

“You know what I want,” Huoka all but growls, and the dress is gone, just her naked body pressed against the rough cloth of Sienna’s traveling clothes.

Sienna kisses her on the lips, slow and deep, hands roving across the curves of her body. Her skin burns underneath her touch, a flame made flesh, almost too hot to touch, but Sienna revels in the sting across her fingertips. 

She scoops Huoka up in her arms, carrying her with ease. She finds the familiar bed and lays her down, propped over her with a haughty, hungry grin.

“What’re you doing with those still on?” Huoka hisses, pulling at the fabric of her shirt and leaving a singe that trails smoke. 

Sienna pulls her shirt off slowly, making a show of it, letting Huoka watch her muscled arms, her deep bronze skin glistening. “You know you love it,” she whispers, undoing her belt and pulling the hem of her pants just over her wide hips, down her thighs. 

Huoka swallows dryly, letting a finger trail across Sienna’s hips and down between her thighs as she kicks the trousers off and tosses them to the side. 

“I could look at you like this all day,” Sienna purrs, right in Huoka’s ear, as one hand cups her breast and the other rests on her stomach.

Huoka kisses her, fierce and needy, arms pulling her closer with supernatural strength and hips grinding upward. Sienna chuckles into her lips and gives her what she wants, fingers working with slow, sure movements.

“Faster,” Huoka demands, her fingernails digging into Sienna’s shoulder and growing almost unbearably hot.

“Patient,” Sienna replies, a pleasant growl building in her chest, “Darling, why would you want to take this away from me?” She kisses down her neck, her collarbone, thrusting her fingers with every touch of her lips for emphasis. “Let me enjoy it, please, just a little longer, let me see what I can do to you.”

Huoka whines softly, and it isn’t long before Sienna brings her to a shuddering, breathy moan. She can’t contain her smirk as she watches the goddess melt under her touch, reduced to a panting mess.

“Perfect, sweetheart, perfect,” Sienna says, taking the time to lick her fingers clean. She can’t ignore the burning in her stomach, and she shifts to place Huoka’s leg between her thighs, grinding down with a satisfied sigh.

Huoka presses their lips together again, softer now, and slips her hand down to finish Sienna off. They slowly settle into a sweaty tangle of limbs, wrapped in each other’s warm glow. 

“I missed you,” Huoka mumbles into her shoulder, quiet, genuine.

“I missed you, too,” Sienna says back, hiding just a tinge of guilt.

“You’ll stay this time?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay this time,” she lies.


	18. Day 20 - Breakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurora and Mari were not meant to last forever.

“I’m gonna pop down for a drink, you want anything?” Mari asks, hand already on the doorknob, sparing a glance at Aurora sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Do you have to?” She says roughly, a familiar note of annoyance running through her voice, one that’s become all too common.

Mari grins and walks back over to her, sliding an arm around her shoulder. “Do you want me to stayyyy?” She purrs, but before she can bring her lips to Aurora’s temple, she’s wormed her way from under her touch.

Mari feels her heart sink, a vacuum of fear opening in her chest. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“You just—you don’t have to get drunk every night.”

“I won’t drink tonight, if you don’t want, is that really what’s bothering you?” She feels like her foot is on the edge of a cliff in the dark, unsure of how deep the drop is.

“Yes. No, it’s just...what are we doing here?” Aurora’s arms are crossed over her chest, head low, eyes cast up angry and fearful.

“Just passing through, but if you want to stay–”

“No! I mean here–” she waves her hands with emphasis at the room, the bed, “–together. What are we doing together?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mari asks, panic rising in the back of her throat, “Because we’re happy, because it’s fun, because I love you? Because we love each other?”

Aurora just stares back, curled in on herself like a wounded animal.

“You do love me? Rory?” She feels the hint of tears stinging the back of her eyes.

“I’m just not getting anywhere, not where I want to, I’m not any closer to finding the answers I wanted when I left home–”

“Rory, do you love me?” She asks again, insistently, placing her hand on Aurora’s shoulder and gripping tightly.

“I don’t—that’s not what we’re talking about!”

“Then what are we talking about?”

“I just…I don’t think this is working, we’re not getting anywhere, either of us, so I don’t think–”

“You don’t think we should be together anymore.” It comes out flatly, crestfallen, hiding behind it a dam about to burst. 

“Yeah,” Aurora says, and she looks almost relieved.

“You don’t love me anymore.”

“I didn’t say–”

“Just tell me you don’t love me anymore!” Her voice breaks and the tears start flowing, trailing down her cheeks and dripping onto the sheets.

“I can’t say that,” Aurora says quietly, “I don’t think—I don’t think I ever did.”

“Then what the hell was all this for?” Mari asks quietly, drawing back, hands clasping tightly the fabric of her shirt. 

“It was fun,” Aurora murmurs, eyes cast toward the floor, refusing to look at her.

“Is that all it was?”

Something in Aurora snaps, and she squares her shoulders, turning to make fierce eye contact. “I don’t have to do this!” 

“Do what?” 

“Listen to this!” She roll her shoulders and stands up, fingers flexing and eyes darting around. “Just let it be over, Mari, don’t make this so difficult!”

“But I love you,” Mari chokes, “Rory, come on, just go to bed and think about it and we can talk in the morning and, and we can work it out.”

“I don’t want to work it out,” Aurora says coldly, “I’ve been wasting my time for too long.” She sighs, and some of the tension releases from her, the anger fading out and giving way to quiet resignation. “I’m sorry, Mari. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have stayed with you so long.”

Mari stares like a deer caught in light, tears flowing freely down her face, shoulders occasionally heaving with a soft sob. Aurora stares back, blank and pitying.

“Don’t leave me,” Mari whispers, standing up, taking a useless step forward as Aurora turns her back.

“I’m sorry,” is the last thing she says as she opens the door and slips through, footsteps echoing down the hallway. Mari moves as if to follow, but before she reaches the door she feels all the energy robbed from her body, and she just stands there, dumbfounded, weeping.


	19. Day 21 - Drain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This cleric will do anything for his goddess.

_She takes, and she takes, and she takes._

Her hands leave your body, withdrawing from the holes they’ve bored in your chest, black fingers long and slender, clawed. Her pale face is smiling, death-grey lips in a pleased smirk, and she practically glows.

“Thank you, darling,” she purrs, and she places your ravaged form on the hard stone floor of her temple. Beds, you think, or at least pews, those should be of some priority. Somewhere to recover after this.

A new god is hungry. A new god must draw energy from somewhere, and if sapping it straight from your body is what helps her, then you are glad to make the sacrifice. 

It’s worth it, anyway, to see the way she’s practically drunk on it—on the power, on the force of your worship. Your dull blood stains her fingertips and she licks it off, silky black hair glistening.

She wasn’t like that when you found her. She was dull and weak, a scrap of divinity left to perish and rot without any followers to feed its flame, but now.

Now she is a frightening thing, stronger every day, discovering new and better things she can do, giving you gifts of power. She uses you as the catalyst for her ascension, and one day it will be worth it.

But today, you lay bleeding on the stone floor while her heels click on the ground, back turned to you. You try to save your strength, to mend your wounds with the magic she has granted you. She’s always hungry, always itching for more, ready to take and take and take. You must make sure there is any of you left.


End file.
